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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467677">it's not like you intended to</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_paper_crane/pseuds/a_paper_crane'>a_paper_crane</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Breaking and Entering, Broken Bones, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, bronwyn is way too nice for her own good, drunk emma bloom, i cant believe thats a legit tag, yeah thats it really</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:41:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_paper_crane/pseuds/a_paper_crane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bronwyn’s face falls.  She moves to hug Emma, who again begins to cry.  “He left me, ‘Wyn.  Said I was too caught up on his grandpa.”</p><p>Bronwyn flinches as Emma sobs into her shoulder.  “You were… in love with his grandfather?”</p><p>Emma lets out a howl, then says in a voice at least an octave higher than normal, “Not anymore!”</p><p> </p><p>aka: Emma breaks into Bronwyn's house while she's drunk</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emma Bloom/Bronwyn Bruntley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. "is this your house?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bronwyn wakes up around three to footsteps in her kitchen.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go to bed, Fiona,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s late, I’m trying to sleep</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rolls over and tries to ignore it, then remembers Fiona hasn’t been her roommate in years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She freezes, suddenly terrified, wondering who the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>is in her house in the dead of night.  The footsteps are soft, but still noisy enough to wake her up.  They seem to shuffle around, probably in the kitchen, clearly unable to tell where they’re going.  Bronwyn hears what she assumes to be a chair wobbling, then a crash and a hushed “</span>
  <em>
    <span>shit!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” and she can’t help but think that whoever is in her house isn’t very good at burglary.  She stays put for a bit, listening to the burglar stumble around in her kitchen, until there’s another loud crash followed by what seems to be moaning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In an act of something closer to curiosity than fear, Bronwyn pulls out her phone, dials the number for the police, and tiptoes into the kitchen.  Lying next to the table and a chair on its side, clutching her leg, is a girl.  She’s young, probably Bronwyn’s age, blonde, </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredibly</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretty, and clearly drunk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...What the fuck?” Bronwyn asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl moans again.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl rolls over.  “My leg,” she slurs.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Bronwyn says.  “C’mon.  Let’s get you up.”  She reaches down and pulls the girl up, then slips an arm around her shoulders.  The girl takes half a step and shouts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Bronwyn whispers.  “You better not have broken your leg on my chair.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl groans in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, then.  D’you mind if I pick you up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl nods and throws her arms around Bronwyn’s shoulders in a sort-of hug.  She goes limp when Bronwyn lifts her legs off the ground and carries her to the couch, where she curls into a ball and begins to cry.  She’s sitting in the same position when Bronwyn returns with a glass of water.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drink this,” she commands as she sits down on the other side of the stained couch.  The girl does, choking it down despite the sobs she’s fighting.  “Do you… want a blanket or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn stands again and walks to the nearby closet, which she pauses in front of for a second, considering.  This could very well be a scam or a way to get into her house and rob her or something, but the girl also seems </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> drunk.  She grabs the blanket and returns to the couch after a short moral debate ruling in favor of the girl just being really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>drunk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” she says as she hands it to the girl, who is still in tears.  “Can I see your leg?”  Again, the girl just nods, so Bronwyn sits and pulls it into her lap.  Clutching the blanket, the girl watches as Bronwyn inspects it, occasionally prodding and prompting whimpers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It looks fine, but I can’t promise it isn’t broken.  If you’re still hurting tomorrow morning, I’ll take you to the hospital, alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” the girl mumbles, the first clear thing she’s said since Bronwyn’s woken up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” Bronwyn asks.  “What are you doing in my house in the middle of the night?  How the hell did you even get in here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“M’ name’s Emma,” the girl says.  “This ‘s my house.”  Bronwyn sighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right.  My name is Bronwyn.  This is my flat, and it’s the middle of the night, and you’re drunk.  I’m going to let you stay, okay?  You can sleep on the couch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma sniffles and nods.  “M’kay.  Sleep on th’ couch… m’kay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened, Emma?” Bronwyn asks, because she’s curious, and because she knows Emma will tell her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma sniffs again, and then, voice breaking, says, “He left me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn’s face falls.  She moves to hug Emma, who again begins to cry.  “He left me, ‘Wyn.  Said I was too caught up on his grandpa.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn flinches as Emma sobs into her shoulder.  “You were… in love with his grandfather?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma lets out a howl, then says in a voice at least an octave higher than normal, “Not anymore!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn nods and pats her back, making a mental note to question Emma about what in the name of god she was talking about tomorrow.  “Okay, Em.  Why don’t you go to sleep?  I’ll even take you back to my bed, if you like.”  Under her breath, she adds, “It’s not like I’m going to be sleeping anytime soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma nods again, and stretches her arms out toward Bronwyn when she stands.  Bronwyn complies and pulls her up, but Emma wraps her arms around her neck and refuses to let go.  It takes a second for her to catch on, but when she does, Bronwyn rolls her eyes.  She lifts Emma and carries her back to her bedroom, dropping her on the bed with a sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma snuggles into Bronwyn’s pillows and seems to fall asleep almost immediately, leaving Bronwyn to tuck her in.  She does so, feeling a strange sense of intimacy, and lingers at the doorway, wrestling with the nagging thought that she should kiss Emma on the forehead or something equally mothering.  She doesn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>——— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first thing Emma feels when she wakes up is confused.  She doesn’t recognize the room she’s in, and she’s tucked very firmly into this stranger’s bed, and according to the clock next to her it’s noon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the headache hits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s clearly been drunk, she realizes, and then waking up in a stranger’s bed takes on a whole new level of </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  She’s still fully clothed, which is a good sign.  Battling nausea and the spinning floor, she stands up and begins to look for the owner of the bed.  Pain shoots through her left leg, but she forces herself through it and hobbles on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She finds a girl sitting on the countertop in the kitchen, drinking something out of a mug.  Her curly hair sticks out at odd angles and there are bags under her eyes.  It’s clear she hasn’t slept.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this your house?” Emma asks immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is,” says the girl on the counter.  “Do you remember last night?  Even just a bit?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma shakes her head.  “Did we…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl is quick to interrupt her.  “No, no.  You broke into my flat and cried about a boy.  I’m Bronwyn, by the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god.  Oh my god, I’m so sorry.  I swear I’m not like that most of the time.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn chuckles into her mug.  “I figured.  You want some?”  She gestures to the mug.  “It’s hot chocolate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any coffee?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Bronwyn says.  She leaps off the counter and begins to fidget with the coffee machine.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Emma says.  “You really didn’t have to let me stay.  And you really don’t need to be making me coffee right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know that.”  Bronwyn is facing away, but Emma can hear her smile.  “You don’t need to thank me.  It’s the least I could do.  You seemed like you were pretty beat up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” is all Emma can say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a short pause until Bronwyn breaks it with, “So… his grandfather, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma groans and collapses onto the counter.  “Shut up!” she shouts.  “Just let me forget about it!  It was only for the money!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so you have a thing for rich boys?” Bronwyn teases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!  I like rich girls, too,” Emma protests.  “I won’t discriminate if they’ve got money.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Bronwyn says.  “I’m so sorry.  D’you want some breakfast?  Or lunch, rather?”  She turns around as the coffee pot begins to gurgle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really don’t need to feed me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.  I also know that the hangover you must have is a bitch.  I’m offering.  Do you want a sandwich?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Again, Bronwyn busies herself at the counter, this time assembling Emma’s sandwich.  She turns around when she’s nearly finished and asks, “You aren’t allergic to anything, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Emma says.  “What are you making?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Peanut butter and jelly.”  Bronwyn hands the sandwich to her and heads back to the coffee machine to pour some for Emma.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Emma says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can sit down, y’know,” Bronwyn responds.  “How’s your leg, by the way?  You hit it on a chair pretty bad last night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hurts like a bitch.  D’you reckon it’s broken?”  Emma perches herself on a chair at the table.  Bronwyn sits next to her and presents a mug of coffee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Could be.  I’ll run you to the doctor’s later.  Eat up, for now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bronwyn, please-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t suppose you drove here like that last night?”  Emma shakes her head meekly.  “Then if you’ve got a car it isn’t here, and unless you’ve got a phone on you, which I doubt you do, I’m not letting you walk out of here.  You’ll just make your leg worse.”  Bronwyn takes a sip of her hot chocolate and glares at the other girl over the top of her mug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma checks her pockets to no avail.  “Fine, then.  Can I at least pay you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Bronwyn says.  “Let me be nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then you’re my friend now,” Emma says, “and you’re stuck with me forever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d be all right with that.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "are you alright?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“D’you want another cup before we leave?”  Bronwyn stands and slides Emma’s plate over to herself, then places her own empty mug on top of it.  She gestures to the coffee pot, still mostly full, but Emma shakes her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, thanks.  The one’s probably given me jitters to last a week.”  She places her mug on top of Bronwyn’s, then tries to stand.  She flinches, prompting a concerned look from Bronwyn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?  I can’t have you dying in my flat.”  Emma smiles, leaning on the table, and nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine.  I forgot it hurts to, y’know, walk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn rushes to drop the dishes in the sink, then returns to Emma’s side.  She lifts Emma’s arm over her shoulders and slips her own arm around Emma’s waist.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got you.  And I can carry you if it gets too difficult.  I did last night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not, Bronwyn.  And I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry I made you carry me last night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn shrugs as Emma begins to limp forward, dragging her along.  “I really don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma continues to decline each of Bronwyn’s offers to carry her to the street.  She drags herself stubbornly down the halls until they reach the staircase.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t this place have an elevator?” She asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn shakes her head.  “It doesn’t, I’m sorry.  It’s only a few floors to the bottom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma stares at her, their faces only a few inches from each other.  And she smirks, slips out from Bronwyn’s grip, and sits down on the edge of the stairs.  She’s preparing to slide when Bronwyn reaches down and scoops her up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Excuse me!  </span>
  </em>
  <span>What are you doing?”  Emma crosses her arms and glares up at Bronwyn, who wears a goofy grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> sliding down the stairs.  If your leg isn’t already broken, it will be by the time you get to the bottom.”  She marches to the ground floor with Emma, who frowns the whole way, in her arms.  As they reach the bottom of the staircase, Emma glares again as Bronwyn raises her eyebrows.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can put me down now.”  Emma’s voice is hushed, almost a whisper, and her joking malice can be heard clearly.  She makes little effort to hide her smirk.  Bronwyn shakes her head and continues out the door with Emma, grumbling but still giggling, curled in her arms.  She sets her gently on the sidewalk next to a small, clearly used yet spotless car.  Bronwyn opens the passenger door for Emma, who slides in carefully, keeping her bruised leg lifted slightly to avoid hitting it on something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sit in awkward silence on the drive to the hospital.  Emma stares out her window, trying desperately to work out how she got Bronwyn’s flat confused with her own.  This was no single wrong turn — Bronwyn lives on the opposite side of the city, farther from the bar than Emma’s own apartment.  She recalls, vaguely, meeting an elderly woman with a strange name that she can’t quite place.  She hopes it was that woman or a taxi who gave her a ride, albeit with misguided directions, as the other options seem grim.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn parks the car and helps Emma out, again slipping an arm around her waist for support.  They walk to the front door of the hospital, where Bronwyn stops and looks over at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would you like me to come with you?  I mean, I feel bad — it was my chair you tripped over, after all.  You can tell them I’m your friend and the like, if you please.  And I can drive you home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma pauses, turning over her options, and decides walking home on crutches isn’t the best idea.  She nods, tightens her grip on Bronwyn’s shoulders, and leads them through the doors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waiting room has the same sterile smell as every other waiting room Emma has ever been in.  Blue padded chairs line the room and an ugly brown rug covers the off-white tile floor.  A boy wearing a mask flips through an outdated magazine.  Sitting under a muted painting of an orchid is a girl with blonde curls, her knees pulled up to her chest.  The man at the desk looks apathetic.  He hands Emma a clipboard with paperwork without so much as a glance at Bronwyn.  They sit down opposite the boy with the mask, and he looks up for a second to wave at them.  Bronwyn smiles back as Emma scribbles her family’s medical history onto the sheets of paper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy — Hugh, according to the nurse — gets called back a few minutes later, and Claire, the girl, shortly after him.  Bronwyn and Emma sit alone in the waiting room, silent, until another nurse arrives and shouts Emma’s name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to come?”  Bronwyn doesn’t stand, waiting for Emma’s answer.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head.  “I’ll be alright.”  Bronwyn nods and waves as Emma, limping, follows the nurse through the doorway, where she can no longer see her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn sits in the waiting room for seemingly hours.  She watches the people who pass through — a stout, angry looking boy; a smiling young girl who seems to be made up of nothing but skin and bone; a boy wearing a peculiar outfit, complete with a monocle; another person who walks in while Bronwyn is reading and is promptly ushered to the exam rooms before Bronwyn can see their face.  Others pass through, but are less than notable.  At long last, Emma reenters the waiting room on crutches.  There’s a splint on her leg, and she smiles grimly at Bronwyn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s broken,” she says as Bronwyn stands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no.”  She grimaces, rushing towards Emma, who laughs.  “I’m so sorry, Em.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s okay.  It’s not your fault, I’m the one who broke into your house and tripped over a chair.  It’s gonna be fine.  They said it’s not that bad, and I’ll only have to wear a cast for six weeks once they put it on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn nods.  “Alright.  Is there anything I can do?”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take me home?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bronwyn’s frown cracks into a smile.  “What’s your address?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma rattles it off, and Bronwyn pulls out her phone to plug it into her GPS.  “Give me that,” Emma demands.  Bronwyn complies, and when it’s given back, the phone is open to a new contact, which reads “Emma Bloom,” complete with a flower emoji.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your last name is Bloom?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma nods happily.  “What’s yours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bruntley.  It’s not nearly as good as Bloom, I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma begins moving towards the door, forcing Bronwyn to follow.  “I think it’s lovely.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>there was originally a plan for this. there is no longer a plan. it'll go wherever i please and be however long it needs to be. sorry about that lmao</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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